


The Heat of Victory

by sphagnum



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dominant Omegas, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/M, Group Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, OT6, Omega Steve Rogers, Orgy, Porn as Character Study, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, everyone fucks Steve and has a great time doing it that's it that's the fic, immediately post-Battle of New York, victory heats, we gonna party like it's 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphagnum/pseuds/sphagnum
Summary: “Oh,” he said, and his tone must have been strange, because when he looked up everyone was looking back at him. Even Banner, who was leaning heavily against Thor and had one eye closed, was watching him with the other.“What?” Stark said, spinning around theatrically to look behind him. “Are there aliens still kicking around? Another nuke? An earthquake, the rapture, what is it, where’s the fire?”“No emergency,” Steve said. He wished he still had his helmet on, something to at least give his face partial cover, but putting it back on now would be ridiculous. “It’s just. We won.”“Oh,” Banner said, and straightened up a little. “Are you--”“About to, yeah.”“Hey,” Stark said sharply, “no secret side conversations in my Tower. What’s going on?”Stark was a civilian, Steve reminded himself, and bit back the quick retort that wanted to spill out. He opened the collar of his uniform instead, undoing buckles until the tough leather gaped open over the scent glands at his neck.





	The Heat of Victory

**Author's Note:**

> Note on A/B/O dynamics for this story: heats aren't fuck-or-die and pheromones aren't roofies, so there's no dubcon here and everyone can choose whether or not to participate in sex, including Steve. No knotting, and mentions of mpreg but no actual mpreg.

It wasn’t that Steve had _forgotten_ , exactly. It just hadn’t been at the top of his mind. An alien invasion was the kind of thing that took priority, and then he’d immediately gone from battle to coordinating between SHIELD and the other first responders until Agent Hill had forcibly shoved them all into a van and told them to get at least twenty-four hours of rest before they even _thought_ about coming back to help with the clean-up. It wasn’t until they were back inside Stark’s penthouse, the wormhole closed, the nuke dispatched, and the architect of the invasion still lodged in a Loki-shaped crater in the floor, that Steve noticed his body was running warm.

“Oh,” he said, and his tone must have been strange, because when he looked up everyone was looking back at him. Even Banner, who was leaning heavily against Thor and had one eye closed, was watching him with the other.

“What?” Stark said, spinning around theatrically to look behind him. “Are there aliens still kicking around? Another nuke? An earthquake, the rapture, what is it, where’s the fire?”

“No emergency,” Steve said. He wished he still had his helmet on, something to at least give his face partial cover, but putting it back on now would be ridiculous. “It’s just. We won.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Banner said, and straightened up a little. “Are you--”

“About to, yeah.”

“Hey,” Stark said sharply, “no secret side conversations in my Tower. What’s going on?”

Stark was a civilian, Steve reminded himself, and bit back the quick retort that wanted to spill out. He opened the collar of his uniform instead, undoing buckles until the tough leather gaped open over the scent glands at his neck.

“Oh, shit,” Stark said. Steve had expected him to back away, but he stepped forward instead, his eyes alight with interest as his nostrils flared. “Really? After one fight?”

“Kind of a big fight,” Steve said dryly. He checked in on the others; Romanoff looked calm, Barton thoughtful, both of them standing close to each other and a little apart from the others. Banner had a red flush climbing up his neck and was avoiding everyone’s eyes, but apart from the blush that was normal for him, from what Steve could tell. Thor just looked nonplussed.

“It’s not quite done,” Barton said, and jerked his chin towards Loki in the floor. Thor’s hammer was resting on his chest, and Loki wasn’t doing anything as undignified as wriggling under it, but there was an air of sulky menace to his silence.

“I will take him back to Asgard, where he will face justice for his crimes.” Thor gave the Avengers an embarrassed _family, what can you do_ smile when this made Loki snort audibly.

“How soon can you take him?” Romanoff asked.

“We could depart without delay, if there’s a reason for haste. It will take mere moments for the bifrost to open.”

“Now would be good,” Steve said absently, his mind working through the ramifications of this new development, shifting course from containment and clean-up logistics to dealing with a victory heat. If he’d been back with his old team, he would’ve known how to handle it. Scout out a safe location, post half his men on watch, rotate them out in pairs so everyone had a chance to enjoy the celebration, and burn through his heat hard and fast so they’d be ready to move by morning. He’d done it with the commandos a few times, after particularly successful raids. They’d had a system. They’d all known what they were getting into.

He glanced again at his new teammates. Romanoff nodded at him, Barton waiting for her response before giving his own nod. They’d probably done this before; SHIELD had plenty of omega field agents. No problems there. Stark and Banner were alphas, who could be touchy about this sort of thing, and they were the most likely to have objections on personal grounds--Stark because of their disaster of a first meeting, Banner because he had so clearly wanted to avoid getting involved in any of this, until he came back at the last minute.

“Call it, Cap,” Stark said, hands in his pockets, his ambivalent posture belied by the restrained eagerness in his voice. Stark probably _hadn’t_ done this before, and was the kind of person to be curious about anything new. Steve’s blood rose a little in response to Stark’s interest, to the challenge in his voice. Anticipation fizzed through him.

“Ms. Potts?” he asked, just to be sure.

“Would give me a high-five. And probably ask to join in.”

Steve nodded. “Dr. Banner?” he asked, as neutral as he could manage.

Banner reached a hand up to fiddle with his glasses, blinked when he realized he wasn’t wearing them, and dropped his hand again. “If that’s an invitation,” he said, “I accept, so long as you don’t expect much. I might fall asleep on you before anything much happens.”

Banner clearly hadn’t done this before either. Steve tried not to smile, not wanting it to seem like he was laughing at him, although some of his amusement probably showed. “You won’t.”

“I trust an explanation is forthcoming.” When Thor got annoyed, the burr in his voice thickened to a near growl. Steve wanted to knock him over and _lick_ him, which wasn’t compatible with any of his current strategic goals.

“It’s a victory heat,” he said, and stopped there, because he’d learned that people in the future had different vocabulary for everything to do with sex, and the words that came most naturally to him sometimes made people wince.

Romanoff, after a glance at him, took over. “When an omega leads a group of warriors to victory, if those warriors are already close to the omega or if the battle was especially great, the omega will sometimes go into heat.”

“It’s a biological imperative.” Banner fidgeted with the hem of the shirt Stark had looted for him from a crushed vendor stall (after tucking a hundred dollar bill under what was left of the cash register), stretching it out while he explained. “A way of, ah, ensuring reproduction with strong mates, so you have a better chance of healthy babies. It also solidifies command structures and defines mated groups.”

“Or so it worked back in caveman times,” Stark cut in. “These days we’re a little more civilized about courting. Not every unit that gets down and dirty after Mission Accomplished winds up as a pack, and orders come from the brass, not whichever omega in the field has the sharpest teeth. They’re pretty vestigial these days.”

“Sure can be fun, though,” Barton said, and winked at Steve.

It took some of the sting out of Stark’s _vestigial_ comment. Was that how everyone thought these days, or was it just that Stark was a civilian? It was hard to understand what a victory heat really meant until you’d gone through one. Steve hadn’t had a clue himself, not until he’d rescued Bucky and returned to camp with all the other freed prisoners and started glowing with heat pheromones right there in the command tent. Peggy and Bucky had hustled him off to a quarantine room, and between the two of them, they’d--

No. He couldn’t think about that now, not when his old team was lost to age and time and his new team was right there. Right now, he didn’t have to be alone. Even if they didn’t stick around after, even if Stark was right and this didn’t mean anything in the future, at least he wouldn’t have to ride this out alone.

“Ah,” Thor said politely. Steve wondered if that was his default response whenever Earth’s sexual dynamics came into play. “Do you require privacy?”

Steve couldn’t help his laugh then. “Not at all. If you want to join us, you’re invited. But _he’s_ not,” Steve said, eyes cutting to Loki.

“An intriguing custom.” Thor’s gaze wandered over Steve speculatively.

Steve reminded himself that tackling Thor to the floor right then would be counterproductive. He reached out for Barton instead, warmed by the easy way Barton stepped into his arms. Barton’s head dipped down to rest on his shoulder. There was a slice on Barton’s scalp that had matted a section of his hair with blood, the smell metallic against his solid healthy beta scent and the salty dried sweat on his neck. Steve barely restrained himself from licking the cut clean. That wasn’t really sanitary, no matter what his instincts were insisting, and there were better ways available to care for his people. He kissed Barton’s temple instead, laying a line of soft touches across his cheek until Barton raised his head and made his lips available.

“Okay, chop-chop, let’s get this show on the road,” Stark said, clapping his hands together. His words faded into the background, unimportant compared to finding out how Barton kissed (enthusiastic and messy, but still careful with his teeth). “Thor, let’s get the green goblin here up to the roof, I have people to do and things to see, time’s a-wasting.”

When Steve lifted his head, Romanoff was watching them, the rest of the room empty. The absence of half his team sparked a small, lost ache in his chest that he ruthlessly quelled. Stark and Banner, at least, were coming right back. And he still had two teammates in front of him, both of them tired and dirty and in need of attention.

“Do you think the hot water still works?” he asked.

“Let’s find out.” Romanoff led him to a bathroom (and how she knew exactly where the bathroom of Stark’s penthouse was, Steve wasn’t going to ask). Some concrete dust had blown in under the door and the wall-length mirror had cracked down the middle, but it contained a bathtub four times the size of Steve’s SHIELD bunk, and that was all he cared about. He found the right sequence of buttons to start water flowing after a few false starts and discovered the hot water _did_ work. It poured in clear and faintly steaming from three taps at once. He took a moment to admire it, knowing the pristine water would go grimy the minute they stepped into it.

“This is a Stark thing, right?” Steve asked, propping Barton on the edge of the bathtub. He found the catches on Barton’s uniform and started stripping him out of his clothes. Romanoff was undressing briskly by the doorway, unzipping her one-piece leather suit and hanging it on a towel rack. “Not everybody has bathtubs sized for a baseball team?”

“I’m not complaining,” Barton mumbled. He’d closed his eyes as soon as Steve pulled his shirt over his head, putting himself entirely in Steve’s hands. The show of trust had Steve’s instincts humming with contentment as he lifted Barton into the tub. Barton had _definitely_ done this before. “No waiting for the bath. _Everyone_ in the bath.”

“Very efficient.” Romanoff slid into the water with a sigh. She tapped a few of the buttons near the tap and the water developed a slight current, fresh water flowing in as old water drained out. Steve approved. He’d only been aiming for less dirty, but if they could actually get _clean_ , that would be even better. It would take a while, but in the meantime the hot water would ease sore muscles and fresh bruises, and the delay would give Steve’s heat time to simmer. The anticipation was just as good as the heat itself, as long as he had partners to share it with.

He settled back against the side of the tub, pulled Barton into his chest, and started to dampen his hair with handfuls of warm water. Barton tipped his head back and went lax, floating up out of Steve’s lap a little as the water level rose. Romanoff dipped her head below the water and emerged running her fingers through her hair, jamming against knots at the ends.

“Need any help?” Steve asked.

Romanoff shook her head, but passed Steve the shampoo bottle after squirting a generous amount into her own palm. “He could use a hand,” she said, nodding at Barton.

“I can do it,” Barton muttered, but exhaustion was clear in every line of his limp body, and he didn’t protest Steve running shampoo-slick fingers over his head. He rinsed it out carefully, using one hand to direct the water and another to shield Barton’s face, until all the suds were gone.

“I’ve got him,” Romanoff said, and Steve slid out from behind Barton as she pulled him in.

He took a deep breath and sank under the water. The pressure felt good on his skin, with his scrapes already closed and the new skin tender and just barely stinging. A quick hard pulse of warmth spread out from his abdomen, a sign that his heat was moving from a simmer to a boil. He ignored it for now and gave his hair a vigorous shake to dislodge the built-up dust and debris. A brisk shampooing and a quick scrub of his hands over his body left him feeling much cleaner, with the constantly circulating bathwater carrying away most of the grime that had been stuck to his body.

When he finally had to take in fresh air, he broke the surface of the water and immediately checked in on his teammates. Barton and Romanoff were pressed against the side of the tub, Barton clutching Romanoff’s arm, his head tilted back to rest on her shoulder and his eyes squeezed shut. She pressed kisses against the side of his face while her hand moved slowly under the water. Barton’s arousal was blooming in the humid air, drawing an answering surge of heat from Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Barton gasped, even as his hips twitched up. “I’m sorry, Tasha, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush.” Romanoff kissed his temple, then rubbed her nose in the short hair already drying beside it. “You think your body count is any higher than mine? You still have a long ways to go before you’ll match me, little bird.”

“I tried to kill you.”

“And you failed. I’ll always stop you. I promise,” she said, and some of the tension in Barton’s face eased. When Romanoff nodded at Steve, he moved closer. “We’ll discuss it later. For now, just relax.” Her forearm twisted and Barton’s breath caught as his back arched.

“Mind if I join?” Steve asked diffidently. He didn’t want to intrude on what was clearly more than a working relationship, but the need to do _something_ for Barton was drumming up against his skin from the inside.

“How long can you hold your breath?” Romanoff asked, entirely cool except for the gleam of interest in her eyes.

Steve had always liked a challenge. “Let’s find out.”

“Oh _fuck_ , Cap,” Barton said very quietly, his thighs immediately opening wider.

“Please, Agent Barton,” Steve said solemnly. “Anyone I’m about to suck off should call me Steve.”

Natasha’s laugh, scratchy and surprised, was a delight to hear. Steve took a moment to savor it while he pulled in a deep breath. He ducked under the water and went straight to work, nuzzling and lipping the tip of Clint’s dick and wrapping his hand around the base when Natasha let go. Her hand moved up to stroke Steve’s cheek instead. He tilted his head into the touch and took Clint in deeper.

Clint was already pretty worked up, his legs kicking a little in the water every time Steve stroked along his dick with the flat of his tongue. The water cut off Steve’s air more thoroughly than Clint could, so there was no reason not to go as deep as possible, drawing Clint down into his throat. Not the most subtle suck job he’d ever given, but he was working on a deadline. His lungs were just beginning to burn when Clint’s legs went rigid and his cock jerked in Steve’s mouth.

Steve swallowed carefully, not wanting to get the bathwater dirty, before resurfacing with a gasp. Clint was looking up at him with a gratifyingly stunned expression. He reached out and traced two fingers over Steve’s lips, which were swollen and tingling from the stretch and the heat of the water.

“Holy shit, were you down there this whole time?” Stark was standing in the doorway, Banner hovering behind him. “Because if so, I need to write a thank you letter to genetic engineering.”

“Uh, hi,” Banner said slowly. “Are we interrupting?” His weight was balanced on the balls of his feet, like he’d turn around and walk right out if someone said yes.

“How can we be interrupting?” Stark said, nudging Banner forward. “It’s my Tower.”

Steve lounged back in the water, spreading his arms against the tub’s sides to bare his chest. “So quit gawking and get in here.”

“Bossy, bossy.” Stark stripped off without ceremony, Banner only hesitating for a moment before joining in. Banner and Stark were apparently free from the body shyness Steve had observed in some alphas. It figured that if Banner woke up naked in front of strangers after coming back from the Hulk he’d lose modesty pretty fast, and Stark had apparently never met a taboo he didn’t want to cross.

They both climbed in, Stark hissing when the hot water hit his many scabs. Steve didn’t even have to scoot back to make room. That didn’t stop Stark from edging into his space anyway, splashing him just enough to be deliberately obnoxious without being an outright provocation. Steve didn’t rise to the bait, just let Stark work himself up while he and Banner got clean. There would be plenty of time for them to roughhouse later, and Banner was wedged into the far corner of the tub, flinching away from the sprays of water. The tub was big, but it wasn’t a swimming pool.

Once everyone was washed up and Clint really did almost fall asleep, Steve climbed out of the tub and headed for the master bedroom, ignoring the questions Stark yelled after him. The mattress on the bed was sized for a whole pack, Steve was pleased to see, and there was plenty of floor space in the room. He dragged the mattress off the frame and pushed all the furniture clear to the sides of the room.

Stark appeared in the doorway, arms folded, still naked and with dripping wet hair. “You have something against bed frames?”

“It’s harder to fall off a mattress that’s already on the floor.”

“And the end tables being sent to time-out?” Stark asked, waving at the furniture in the corners of the room.

“That’s so we don’t break them when we do this.” Steve stepped up into Stark’s space, waited until Stark’s eyes dropped to his mouth, and then reached out a finger and tapped him on the nose. “Tag, you’re it.”

Steve was going to treasure the incredulous expression Stark made in response until the day he died. Before Stark could recover, Steve slid past him through the doorway and took off down the hallway. A moment later he heard Stark following at a dead sprint.

There was some kind of alarmed noise from the bathroom as Steve whipped past the doorway, but he didn’t have time to investigate. Stark was gaining fast, bouncing off furniture and taking shortcuts as Steve went deeper into the penthouse, flying through rooms and looping back around, building a mental map as he ran. Steve could have outrun him, but that wasn’t the point.

He hit a dead end and turned. Stark was in the doorway, chest heaving, legs braced and arms stretched wide. Steve feinted right, ducked low, and nudged the back of Stark’s knee with his foot so Stark went stumbling to the side. Stark’s hand almost brushed the edges of his hair as he ducked under Stark’s arm and ran back.

When he passed the bathroom again he got a flash of Clint standing with a towel over his head, Banner's concerned face, and Natasha with her hand on Banner's arm. Clearly Banner wasn’t going to play chase. No matter; Stark was charging up behind him, close enough to make Steve’s blood surge.

Steve slowed his pace enough to let Stark catch up as soon as they tumbled back through the master bedroom door. Stark jumped forward unexpectedly instead of reaching out for a grab. Steve caught him on reflex, his hands gripping Stark’s thighs as Stark’s chest crashed into his own. Totally unconcerned about the possibility of being dropped, Stark used one hand to grab the back of Steve’s neck and the other to tap him triumphantly on the nose.

“You’re it,” Stark said, breathless but smug, before jumping down.

Steve grinned and tackled him to the carpet. Stark yelped in surprise, but Steve was careful about how they landed, cushioning Stark’s head and taking an elbow to the chest so Stark wouldn’t bang it on the floor. They were all bruised enough already, and the last thing Steve wanted to do was add more hurts.

Stark growled and pushed him off. Steve rolled with it, not wanting to push too far or too fast when Stark was still an unknown quantity, but Stark just seized the opportunity to pounce on _him_. The heat simmering in Steve’s core spread a little further, burning up his chest and down his legs, as Stark proved himself willing to wrestle, all his lean strength on display. They would do something about that heat soon, but there was still time to play first.

Steve let him get almost within snapping range before rolling them over until Steve was on top again and pinning Stark’s hands to his sides. If Stark had squirmed to get away he would have let him go, but Stark just moved further into Steve’s space, shoving up with an elbow and doing a tricky sideways throw. Steve let it rock him back for a moment, then flopped right down on top of him, wonderfully skin-to-skin.

Stark wiggled irritably against Steve’s solid hold in search of weak points. When Steve licked the tip of Stark’s nose, Stark hissed at him like an affronted goose. Steve did it again, which earned him a truly indignant huff, and then Stark was rearing up under him, using the leverage of his thighs and hips against Steve’s greater weight. This time Steve let it knock him back to a crouch. Stark was a surprisingly good fighter, sneaky and determined and quicker than he had any right to be. He moved like someone who’d always been smaller than the men he was fighting. Steve knew exactly what that looked like, what that _felt_ like, and it warmed him to see it in Stark. Steve gave ground judiciously while dodging Stark’s canny lunges, backing towards the mattress on the floor.

“Ah, should we--” Banner said from the doorway.

“They’re fine,” Natasha said. “Watch.”

When they were close enough to the mattress, Steve reversed course, darting forward to hook Stark around the waist and throw him in an overhead arc onto the bed. Stark whooped in delight as he went airborne and flung his arms out wide. Steve jumped right after him so they’d hit at the same time, bouncing down side-by-side on the mattress.

They landed hard on the heap of disordered blankets, both of them laughing. Steve crawled over Stark on his hands and knees. Stark arched his hips up to grind against Steve’s stomach and then they were kissing, panting too hard to be any kind of coordinated but returning to each other’s faces over and over, laying warm lip prints on flushed skin.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said happily, while Tony licked his jaw.

“Yeah, come on.” Tony swung a leg over Steve’s lower back and tipped them sideways. Steve went easily now, already acquainted with the way Tony used his body, able to follow his cues. They locked together with Steve on his back and rolled seamlessly into a dirty grind.

“See?” Natasha dragged Clint onto the mattress like he was a training dummy, dropping him into a stack of pillows before lounging sideways across his lap. “They’re doing fine.”

Steve tilted his head back and saw Banner looking down at him with a mixture of amusement and trepidation. Banner crouched by the edge of the bed, his folded arms across his knees. “I hope you’re not expecting me to, to do that.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve said. Tony was doing something _very_ nice with his free hand that made it a bit hard to concentrate, but he made the effort to reach out and pat Banner’s knee, reassuring rather than lascivious. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Victory heats are intense. Sometimes it’s too much. You’re welcome to stay and watch, if that’s all you want.”

Banner was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching Steve’s face. “I’ll, uh, just watch for now.”

“Okay,” Steve said peaceably, then reared up to bowl Tony over again, not even trying to pin him, just for the fun of watching Tony twist out of his hold. One tricky elbow lock later and Tony was braced over him and kissing down Steve’s stomach. His mouth was hot and wet and inventive, and under other circumstances Steve would have gladly let Tony stay between his thighs for an hour just exploring, but his heat was pulsing inside him, adding urgency to every touch.

“Get up here,” Steve said, already a little breathless. Tony was _good_ with his hands. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Foreplay is an art,” Tony informed him, but he slid back up when Steve pulled at his biceps. “Fine, fine, rush job it is, but don’t think this is my best work.”

“I’ll take that into account.”

“Are you--” Tony’s fingers slid into Steve in an instant, easy glide. “Wow, you are _ready_.”

“ _Told_ you. Come on, move your ass.”

“Captain America, swearing?” Tony said, the words an absurd contrast with his dick nudging into position. “What would SHIELD's PR reps say?”

“I served in the fucking army, Tony, now _fuck_ me already.”

“I’m scandalized,” Tony informed him, then thrust home.

Anything else he might have said was lost to the roaring in Steve’s ears, his body enthusiastically giving itself over to to his heat. He took a sharp satisfaction in being full, in the rhythm of Tony’s hips, in the scent of sweat and steel rising from Tony's skin, in how well their bodies were working together, Tony rising to meet Steve’s goading and speeding up when Steve arched impatiently under him.

Tony fought like a man who’d always been smaller and fucked like he was being graded. Something to prove, _so much_ to prove. They communicated just fine like this, Tony’s body so much easier to understand than his speech, insights coming easily as Steve concentrated on Tony’s reactions. Tony was paying just as much attention, _more_ attention, his mind unencumbered by heat, all that intellect applying itself to Steve, mapping out new actions based on Steve’s responses.

Steve got vocal, letting all the little noises he might have otherwise held back spill out of him. Tony clearly wanted to know when he was doing well. Tony adapted to every cue Steve gave him in real time, until Steve really couldn’t have held anything back even if he’d _wanted_ to.

“Fantastic,” Steve said drunkenly, while Tony rocked deep inside him, every stroke perfectly angled, Tony’s shoulders rigid from the strain of going at the pace Steve liked best, “oh, Tony, this is fantastic, you’re so _good_.”

Tony shuddered and ducked his head into Steve’s shoulder, hiding his face as he came. It took him a moment to collect himself; Steve tucked his head in close with a hand over his neck when he twitched like was about to pull away.

Tony huffed and settled his head back down, but reached between them to wrap a hand around Steve’s cock. It only took a few firm strokes for Steve to spill over his fist. The pleasure was almost incidental compared to the satisfaction of Tony’s come inside him, and the new certainty he’d gained about how to work with his most outwardly abrasive teammate.

“Nicely done,” Steve said, once they both had their breath back. “Ten out of ten.”

That was a gamble, but fortunately Tony cracked up laughing, his open mouth pressed to Steve’s shoulder. When he pulled back his eyes were bright. “Glad I could give satisfaction. You are _trouble_ , my God.”

Steve grinned back at him and scruffed Tony’s hair. Tony pulled out slowly, as though Steve might be sore, which was considerate but not necessary. Steve wasn’t sore. Steve was _hungry_ , his own cock barely softened, his eyes moving to the rest of his teammates even as Tony disengaged and collapsed onto his back next to him. They were all watching him, Banner with cautious fascination, Clint with bright interest, Natasha with an unreadable expression. Steve smiled at all three of them and extended a hand to Natasha.

She came forward quickly and gracefully, keeping her footing with ease as she walked across the shifting ground of the mattress and blankets. Steve propped himself up on an elbow to meet her in a kiss, her hands rising to cup the sides of his throat.

It was easy, with Natasha; of course it was easy. She was exquisitely in control of her body, the way she moved, the way she breathed, and she knew exactly how to use it as an instrument of pleasure, the same way she knew how to use it as an instrument of violence. She seated herself neatly over his hips and looked at him. When he nodded, she took him inside in a smooth glide, sinking onto him almost silently. There was a moment of stillness while she looked down at him evaluatingly.

“Hey,” Steve said softly. He rested his hands on her thighs, his palms open and exerting no force. “We _won_.”

The reminder kindled something vicious in her eyes, at odds with the almost demure way she had settled onto his cock. She rolled her hips, fast and sudden, her inner muscles giving him a hard squeeze. He grinned up at her, letting his exhilaration show, and her returning smile was feral.

Steve didn’t have to tell her to go ahead take what she wanted; she read it straight off his face. Her hands pinned his wrists above his head as her smile went wider.

“That’s...a little alarming,” Banner said.

“That’s _hot_ ,” Clint said frankly.

“Barton, that explains so much about you,” Tony said, crawling towards the pile of pillows at the side of the mattress that Clint was still sprawled over. “Not that you’re wrong, because you’re not. Anyone wanna make out?”

Steve tilted his head back to watch, wanting to see if anyone took him up on his offer, but as soon as he looked away Natasha let go of one of his wrists and raked her nails over his chest. It was barely hard enough to sting, but it was enough to make him refocus on her. If she wanted his attention, she could have it.

She set her hand onto his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. When he nodded permission, she dragged her nails down to his hip, hard enough to leave raised red lines. The marks wouldn’t last long, but for now Steve could feel the tingling sting spreading heat down his chest, could watch Natasha’s eyes go dark and pleased as she watched the welts rise.

Steve braced his feet, but otherwise didn’t try to move, letting Natasha set the rhythm. She rode him with languid force, easing into different angles as she chased her pleasure, teasing them both with a handful of perfectly white-hot strokes before shifting into something less overwhelming. Whenever Steve got close, she eased back, perfectly in sync so he didn’t have to strain too much to restrain himself. Bucky had been the same, able to read Steve so well they could fight back-to-back with no words exchanged. After this, Steve could tell that he and Natasha would be almost as well matched, with enough practice.

“You’re amazing,” he told her frankly.

“You’re sweet,” she said, and pinched his nipples hard, both at once. He bucked up and she rose up with him, riding the movement of his hips and working her hand over her clit, eyes slitted but still open as her body shuddered with climax. She’d always be watching him. If he misstepped, if he overextended, she would be right there to correct him, unafraid to tell him when he got it wrong. The certainty and the _relief_ of it sang through him and left him blissfully sated, even as she pulled off his still-hard cock.

“Barton,” she said, and then Clint was crawling over the bed towards him. He was still sleepily uncoordinated, but there was nothing shy or uncertain in his firm grip on Steve’s erection. His mouth followed a moment later. Steve groaned and twined his fingers into Clint’s hair, careful not to yank but needing the contact, needing to touch. Clint rested his elbow on Steve’s thighs and sucked leisurely, drawing off to tongue at Steve’s slick hole for long minutes before mouthing at his cock and sliding back down. Steve threw his head back while he came, his eyes squeezing shut as his mouth dropped open, his back bowing up against the mattress for long moments before he collapsed back down and went boneless.

Clint sat back and wiped his mouth casually with the back of his wrist, smearing the wetness rather than eliminating it. The _smell_ of him, Steve and Natasha and Tony all together on his skin, made Steve want to roll him down onto the mattress and pin him there, _keep_ him there, keep them _all_ there. “You’re quieter than I thought you’d be.”

“Got used to doing this behind enemy lines,” Steve said, a little dazed. “It’s hard enough just keeping the smell under wraps.” He hooked his calf around Clint’s waist, relieved when Clint relaxed into the loose hold. Automatically, he did a quick headcount: Natasha was curled up with Tony, his hand moving busily in between their bodies while she bit his ear, Clint was tucked safely between Steve’s legs and absently sucking his fingers clean, and Bruce--

Bruce was still kneeling at the mattress’ edge, watching Steve with eyes gone heavy-lidded. His cock was straining upwards between his thighs. Both of Bruce’s hands were pressed flat against his thighs, although his fingers flexed as soon as Steve looked at him.

“Bruce,” Steve said warmly. “Something I can help you with?”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” Bruce said, even as his dick twitched, bobbing a little higher above the thatch of salt and pepper hair between his legs. “The other guy is pretty tired, but it’s been a very strange day, and I feel pretty worked up right now.” Every word was even and quiet, but Steve could see the strain in how carefully still his body was, evidence of Bruce’s deliberate control.

Bruce couldn’t be rushed. He was wary of anything that felt like pressure, quick to run rather than risk a trap. Tony had tried to woo him as soon as they met, luring him in with promises of scientific paradise and a home among equals, and Bruce _wanted_ those things, but his want would never be stronger than his caution. He didn’t need bait; he only needed an open door.

Steve relaxed back onto the pillows, his hands folded behind his head. “You can just come on me, if you want. Doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.”

Bruce blinked at him, his flush darkening. He looked down at his own cock, curled a hand around the base, and said, almost apologetically, “I think I do want that.”

“Then go ahead. You can come a little closer, get comfortable, and I’ll stay right here. I won’t grab.”

“I believe you,” Bruce said, sounding faintly surprised. Steve stayed relaxed and loose as Bruce edged close enough to kneel over him.

“I’ll like it,” Steve said, watching Bruce’s face, “being marked like that. Smelling like you.”

A touch of green in Bruce’s irises, there and gone. Bruce closed his eyes and slowed the hand stroking his cock even further. “Tony was right,” he said ruefully. “You _are_ dangerous.”

“Not to you.”

“No,” Bruce said meditatively, his hand still stroking in the same steady rhythm. “Not unless you had to be.”

Steve didn’t argue the point. He was acutely aware of Clint leaning against his thigh, by all appearances asleep, but he had no doubt Clint was listening. The enemy they’d just faced had stolen Clint’s mind, his reason, his will; Steve couldn’t guarantee nobody else was capable of twisting his teammates, or himself, the same way. Imagining an opponent capable of leashing the Hulk--or possibly even worse, Dr. Banner, with all his brilliance and wary threat-assessment--was terrifying. Steve couldn’t guarantee he’d never be on the opposite side of the field from Bruce, but he knew he’d never want to be, and not just because that would mean the stakes of failure would be unimaginably high.

But that was a thought for another time. For now the battle was over, his team had won, and he could take a night to revel in their united strength, in all that they could do to help each other and the world.

The slow, steady movement of Bruce’s hand never wavered. Steve only knew when Bruce was close because his body started to show his rising tension, his thigh muscles contracting and then releasing as he forced himself back to relaxation. It was fascinating to watch. Steve wanted to do more to help somehow, because it looked _hard_ , to keep restraint not through tension but through looseness, but the need to not spook Bruce still applied, and he hadn’t invited Steve to touch him. Steve arched his back instead, flaunting his bare throat, making himself a canvas.

“Okay,” Bruce said quietly, “yes, okay,” and came on a long sigh. Most of his come landed on Steve’s chest, with a few stray drops making it up to Steve’s chin. He stayed in his crouch for a few long moments after, breathing through his nose, then sank back onto his sitbones. His fingers reached out reflexively to trace the column of Steve’s throat. Steve stayed quiet and let him work through his reaction, only moving in order to kiss Bruce’s wrist once it was within range.

“Well,” Bruce said eventually. “That was more intense than I expected.”

“Victory heat,” Steve said, by way of explanation.

Bruce nodded slowly, eyes a little abstracted as he sorted through whatever evidence he’d just collected. “I’d like very much like to kiss you, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, please,” Steve said, and wasn’t surprised when Bruce pressed in close immediately, some of the ferocity he’d been suppressing leaking out in the controlled force he used to draw Steve onto his side. Bruce gripped the back of his head in one broad hand and kissed him hungrily. He was being careful, it wasn’t in his nature to be careless, but he was being a lot pushier about kissing than he’d been about coming, not trying to hide the strength in his arms and shoulders. Steve took his cue and gave as good as he got, finally getting his hands on Bruce’s skin. Bruce ran even hotter than he did. Steve pressed into that warmth with greedy eagerness, pleased when Bruce arched into his touches and let himself be drawn down onto the bed. Their kisses slowed and gentled as Bruce relaxed, mellowing fast now that they were skin to skin. Eventually Bruce pulled his mouth away and rested it on Steve’s shoulder, his eyes already closed.

The others had all gone quiet, apart from the soft rasp of sleeping breaths, and the air was full of the scent of satiation. Everyone had gotten what they needed. Steve let his eyes slip shut.

 

A soft thump outside. A wash of cool air as the balcony door scraped open.

Steve snapped to awareness with a surge of adrenaline, his lips curling back in a snarl. A _stranger_ was coming in, invading the den where his pack was sleeping, and they were going to _regret it_.

The figure was a tall silhouette against the pre-dawn glow of the balcony windows. Steve lunged, bowling the intruder onto his back with a thump, his forearm over the man’s throat and a growl rumbling deep in his own chest.

He had expected a counter-attack, but the man only laughed and caught Steve’s arm with a strong hand around his wrist, stopping him from applying any more pressure. “Is this what you call a friendly greeting? I thought I was invited!”

 _Thor_ , Steve realized belatedly. His instincts flipped from from murder to enthusiastic welcome fast enough to leave him dizzy. He’d been trying not to think about his absent packmate-- _team_ mate, Steve corrected himself--earlier, but it satisfied a craving to have him here now, hale and whole and in the same place as the rest of his teammates, all of them where Steve could see they were safe and taken care of.

Still, there was such a thing as _knocking_. He leaned in and bit the top of Thor’s shoulder, not hard enough to bruise but not gently, either.

“Mmmm, I retract my complaints.” Thor lifted a hand to cradle Steve’s head, his palm warm and heavy. “This is a fitting greeting indeed for a fellow warrior.”

Steve dug his teeth in a fraction, then let go, satisfied that Thor had accepted his rebuke. He would have liked to have more of a tussle--Thor would be a joy to wrestle with, skilled and beautiful in motion and able to stand up to every bit of Steve’s strength--but Thor was relaxed under him, content to lounge under Steve while he did all the work.

He was a very nice place to sit, at least. He’d traded the armor and cape for a loose tunic unlaced halfway down his chest. Steve closed his teeth lightly over Thor’s collarbone, then moved to his throat and bit hard enough to mark, feeling smug about the way it made Thor’s hips twitch up.

“You’re late,” Steve said.

“Forgive me.” Thor’s hand moved between Steve’s legs, his fingers thick and confident, and Steve ground against him with a pleased hum. “I’m sorry to have missed the start of the festivities. I trust the others left you well satisfied?”

“Enough for round one.” Steve slid down far enough to ruck up Thor’s tunic and slide his hands up Thor’s thighs and stomach. Thor was wearing _far_ too much clothing. The laces at the front of his pants gave way under Steve’s insistent tugging, and Thor obligingly lifted his hips so Steve could push the material--not quite fabric, not quite leather, and Steve would be interested to look at it in more detail some time when a fresh wave of heat wasn’t urging him onwards--down past his hips.

“I would be happy to join you for another.” Thor pulled his tunic off and laid back with his arms folded behind his head, looking up at Steve invitingly. “Do as you will.”

Steve just moved against him at first, working them both up. There was no real hurry. Steve’s body was greedy for everything he could get, but he’d learned control during the war, and it was no hardship to slow down enough to appreciate Thor sprawled out before him like a lion, lazy and golden. Thor was powerful enough to take his own strength for granted. It showed in the sculpted musculature of his shoulders and thighs, the patience he had with Steve’s teasing even once they were both hard and leaking, and finally the effortless way he lifted Steve by the hips and held him suspended when Steve kept rutting slowly against him instead of taking him inside.

“I yield,” Thor said warmly, a smile on his face. “Have pity, dear Captain.”

“Well, since you ask so nicely.” Steve guided Thor’s thick cock to his entrance and sank down, Thor lowering him slowly enough that the stretch was pure satisfaction. Heat kept him plenty open and wet. It was waning now, but he still felt the urge to press close, bracing his hands on either side of Thor’s head and leaning down for slow, melting kisses. Thor returned every brush of lips with ready affection, not shy or constrained at all. Strange that his most alien teammate was also the most straightforward.

Steve hadn’t really known what to believe when he’d gotten the SHIELD briefing on Thor, but he no longer doubted that Thor was past old and into _ancient_. His previous sorrow and rage over his brother’s crimes had been genuine, as immediate and forceful as his pleasure was now. Steve watched Thor’s eyes close in clear rapture as Steve rolled his hips and thought he understood. Thor lived in the present; what else was there to do, when he had a history weighty enough to crush him if he dwelt in the past?

It was a tactic Steve would be wise to follow himself. He focused his attention on Thor, on the glide of Thor’s cock inside him and the buzzing each stroke sent up his spine. Neither of them tried to hold back, letting their bodies rock together faster as they climbed closer to the peak. Steve came first, quietly, mindful of his teammates sleeping only a few feet away. They all deserved rest. Rest, and respite, and whatever pleasure Steve could bring them.

Steve was starting to harden again by the time Thor reached his own climax, but it wasn’t an urgent imperative. His heat was fading, finally satisfied, and he folded himself over Thor without drawing off his cock rather than trying for another orgasm. The contact alone was enough.

“A worthy custom,” Thor murmured, his arm curling around Steve’s back. “I thank you for honoring me with it.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Steve replied, his voice already blurring with sleep. He was distantly aware of Thor picking him up and carrying him to the bed some time later. His packmates rolled in around him, their blended scent heavy and soothing, and Steve let his awareness drop with a feeling of perfect safety.

 

It was already light outside when Steve next blinked awake. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked around. Thor was flat on his back starfished out on the mattress, with Bruce’s legs over one arm and Natasha’s head resting on his thigh. Clint was on his stomach with his face shoved into Steve’s hip, and Tony was on Steve’s other side, blinking up as Steve shifted.

“Hey,” Tony said, voice raspy.

“Good morning.”

“So.” Tony sat up, wincing and rubbing his back. “That happened.”

“Sure did.”

“Holy _shit_. Are they always that intense?”

“Pretty much,” Steve admitted. “Less so if it’s with an established team, or a smaller fight, but sometimes it doesn’t seem to matter.”

“Probably a difference in hormonal build-up based on the duration of the fight, or the length of intervals between heats, or--what am I saying, it’s no use theorizing _now_ , we need a larger data set. JARVIS, give me a--thank you,” he said, as a blue screen appeared in the air. Steve watched with interest as Tony started plotting something on a three-dimensional graph. “This usually happens in field conditions, right? Rapid onset? I’ll need to build a recorder and pheromone sampler. A really _secure_ recorder, I don’t need yet another sex tape leaking, but data collection, data collection is important.”

“So,” Steve said carefully, “does that mean you want to do this again?”

Tony opened his mouth, shut it with a snap, and dismissed the graph by closing his hand. “I mean,” he said, carefully casual in a way Steve could now recognize as covering uncertainty. “If the opportunity presents itself, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Steve reached out and took Tony’s hand, twining their fingers together while Tony’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “I want to, if you do.”

“Count me in,” Clint said unexpectedly, “but not yet. Sleep first. Wake me up in a couple weeks.”

Natasha mumbled something in Russian, groped around without opening her eyes, and squeezed Steve’s ankle. Thor let out a window-rattling snore and rolled over, waking Bruce up via landing on top of him. He jerked upright when Bruce reflexively elbowed him in the ribs and rolled off the edge of the mattress with an indignant grumble.

Steve smiled at them all helplessly. He could already picture the team they were going to be, the work they could do together. It was going to be _amazing_.

“Okay, well,” Tony said, blinking rapidly. His fingers tightened around Steve’s. “Good. That’s settled. Hey, is anyone else fucking starving? I’ve got this craving for shawarma.”

**Author's Note:**

> (and since they’re all working together, they uncover and squash Hydra three times as fast and scoop up Sam and Bucky on their way out the door and the whole Civil War arc never happens, thank you and good night)


End file.
